Page 30 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Murdo lifted his hand to the angel’s face and traced the outline with his fingertip, following a line along the nose, until he reached the lips. Clara’s heart fluttered, as if he were caressing her, and she parted her own lips in anticipation.
“It’s Clarry,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve just been running your hands over our sister.”
Murdo glanced at Clara. “It’sye?”
“She looks nothing like me, of course,” Clara said. “Her nose is smaller than mine.”
“I don’t like her nose, Miss Martingale,” Murdo said.
“And her arms are longer,” Nathaniel added.
“I don’t like her arms, either.”
“But her face is prettier than Clara’s,” Cornelius said.
“Corn!” Nathaniel gave his brother a push.
“As statues go, her face is pretty, Lord Cornelius,” Murdo said. “But as to thinking her prettier than yer sister, ye’re either blind, or a fool.”
He smiled at Clara. “Ye said the duke placed the statue here. Was it a gift from him?”
She shook her head. “The statue belongs to my mother. My stepfather had it brought here after they married. It was originally in the gardens at Pascombe Hall.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s where my mother lived before, when she was”—Clara hesitated—“married to Lord Grey.”
“Ah, so Lord Grey’s yer father?”
Clara opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, engulfed by shame.
Cornelius came to her aid. “Mama Betty had the statue made so Clara would be with her for always,” he said.
“Is that so?”
Clara nodded. “We were separated when I was a baby. She spent many years looking for me, then, when she gave me up for dead, she had the statue made, as a memorial.”
“She gave ye up?” His eyes glowed with anger. “How can a mother do such a thing?”
“It wasn’t her fault!” Clara said. “She tried to find me, but was tricked into believing I’d died.” She wiped away a tear. “I grew up not knowing my mother—until Papa Harcourt found me and brought me here. I hated her at first, because I thought she’d abandoned me. But she never stopped thinking of me, or blaming herself for what happened. You see, she was—”
“Clarry,” Cornelius interrupted. “We should get back. We promised Papa we wouldn’t go far. He’ll be wondering where we are.”
“And wondering whether you’ve run off again,” Nathaniel said.
“Nate!” Clara said. “I don’t run off.”
“You did, when—”
“Why don’t you tell us about your estate, Mr. McTavish?” Cornelius interrupted. “Tuffers is always enthusing about it. He says everything’s bigger than Northumberland—the land wider, the hills higher. And you call your gamekeepers gullies.”
“Ghillies,” Murdo said, laughing. “Very well, what do ye want to know?”
“How high are the mountains? Clarry here is something of a climber, but the trees hereabouts and the wall are no longer enough of a challenge for her.”
“The wall?”
“Oh, you must see the wall!” Clara said. “It stretches across the land, separating our country from yours.”
